Rain awakens, groggily rubbing at his eyes, as if that would rub away all the sleep.
The first thing that piques his interest is a floating notification.
[Ding! Poison resistance upgraded!]
Ahh!
He winces, attempting to stretch his sore muscles.
A couple more winces escape his maw as he stands to his feet, his head towering above, grazing the ceiling of the expansive burrow.
A smell of rot and decay assaults his nostrils, he visibly recoils from the acrid and stinging stench.
It was akin to someone prickling or shoving fingers up his nose.
"How long have I been out?"
He muses, examining his scabbed-over wounds, grime and putrid purulence clinging to his figure.
However, he wasn't the only source of decay and rot.
No, that was far from the truth!
He squeezes out through the narrow exit, his eyes landing on a half decayed corpse.
A legion of flies humming as they buzzed over the carcass, having the banquet of the century.
Judging by the state of his scabbed wounds and the extent of decay of the carcass, he was out for three to four days, maybe?
A rough estimate.
He quickly makes distance, making for the open expanse of the canopy, gulping down breath after breath of fresh air.
Free at last!
His boots squelch against the moist jungle floor, eyes cautiously scanning the greenery for any sign of danger.
His squelching steps bring him forth, one, two, three...
Leveraging his body weight, pivoting to create an equilibrium and thus pushing him forward.
He makes it to the rocky track of the river course, eyeing its churning and roaring waves, half expecting a beast to break the wave and attack him.
Discontent--- he walks back, returning only a moment later accompanied with the buzz of flies, rotting carcass dragging behind him.
He visibly shudders, as he feels the patches of fur and scaled skin peeling off under his firm grip.
He halts mid-motion, retching as the scene becomes more messy and overwhelming.
A large smudgy patch of brown dragging in a messy trail.
Finally, he musters all the composure he could gather, lugging the beast carcass.
Twak!
The corpse hit the water, breaking the surface as it gets swept away.
No prowling creature lunges.
A sigh of relief escapes his lips as he draws closer to the bank.
Still cautious.
Slowly, he reaches for a palmful of water and drinks, exhaling loudly as he has his fill, his great thirst sated.
His garments peel off his body-- save for his pants.
Reaching knee-deep into the river, he grabs a handful of sand, rubbing against his body to remove the caked grime and muck.
This carries on for minutes, rubbing and rinsing with water until satisfied.
Content, he washes his cloak and linen tunic, letting them dry by the river bank as he forages for herbs to rub against his wounds.
His left shoulder was so sore that he could barely raise it without a painful wince escaping.
On his barefoot and bare-chested forage, he runs into a bush of red berries, descending onto them without further ado.
Hunger trumps over logic.
[Ding! Poison resistance increases]
The sudden notification had him recoiling, spitting out the berries in the process.
Apprehensive and appalled, he tries to induce vomiting but to no avail.
Heck! He had eaten a stomach full of the said berries!
And so, he sits still, keen on feeling the tiniest reaction to toxic poisoning--- remaining still for a few minutes but when he feels nothing he sighs in relief, going back on his merry way.
He passes by the bank, donning his half-dry tunic and cloak as he heads back to his new lair.
His knees get soiled with the mud as he squeezes back in, only to be welcomed with a rotting stench yet again.
He instinctually sniffs his body, not himself-- something else
What is the origin of the decay?
He already got rid of the beast carcass.
And the stench was too strong to be shrugged off as "lingering smell"
Therefore, he crouches as he walks around the burrow, examining every nook and cranny.
"Oh shit!"
Before him lay the litter, all dead and rotting!
A painful and anguished feeling surges, churning and tearing apart his insides.
Yet, here he was vehemently fighting his oppressors yet causing innocent deaths.
The thought clamped at his chest, tightening with every ragged breath, refusing to be shrugged away.
Was this truly justice, or only another shadow of cruelty?
Victims of circumstance?
He directly questions the existential nihilism of it all, and the effects of his actions, direct or otherwise.
"How different am I from my oppressors then?"
His faint voice echoes through the lair. His hands trembled slightly, the weight of their deaths pressing against him.
Could he claim any higher ground, or was he already walking the same path?
Nonetheless, he grabs the half dozen dead litter, aiming to throw away their corpses.
He sighs, picking up the last one, only for his brows to furrow, eyes narrowing into pinholes.
Did one of them just move?
Or was his eyes playing tricks on him?
There!
Before him, one of the half dozen twitches, fighting to stay alive.
Clinging to its last breath, silently twitching, eyes sealed shut, its body having neither a tinge of fur nor scale.
A great emotion swells, threatening to break free.
Subconsciously, his arcana moves, swirling and pooling before the struggling critter, in an attempt to nourish and save it from its death throes.
The ebbs and flows of the gentle upswell of arcana began to slowly ease, and Rain exhaled a heavy breath.
The worst of it was almost over.
The once pale and ashy skin was gaining a rosy gleam in real time.
[Ding! A soul fragment consumed]
Just then, to his horror, the visibly nourished critter begins degrading, turning into a swirl of arcana.
Argh!
The gentle swirl drills into his temple.
[Ding! A companion is bound]
[Ding! New title received]
Only at the behest of the notification does he visibly calm down.
A swirl of arcana leaks from his orifices, out of his ears and nostrils -- pooling and reconstructing the critter in real time.
The figure forms a juvenile weasel.
Brown fur with grey streaks covering its figure, save for its limbs and tail--- which are covered in green-black scales.
Its scaled paws end with tapered black claws.
Rain regards the palm-sized weasel, reptile hybrid, amusement apparent.
His fingers run across the critter, feeling its material body.
Rain gasps in surprise at how real it felt, amused and gleeful.
"We are so alike, clawing for every chance to survive"
His voice echoes,
"And so, I will call you Kai!" He muses, gently stroking the little weasel.
"A fitting name for you."